


Thematic Prompt Shorts

by copperbadge



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Costume Kink, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Historical Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, Kid Fic, Kittens, M/M, Magical Realism, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-19 02:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3592419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short fanfics based on prompts left for me on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These are the cream of the crop from a bunch of fanfics/headcanons I wrote up in response to prompts on Tumblr.

**jackdaws-pocketbook** said: _How about Avengers, Magical Realism. Something with Pepper?_

Only Tony really believes Pepper is magic. Most people just think she's really efficient. But you live basically in someone's pocket for years, you get to know them.

So Tony is totally unsurprised when he undresses Pepper for the first time, after their third Official Date (he can be a traditionalist when he wants, fuck you) and finds a gorgeous blue tattoo stretching from the small of her back to her shoulders.

He's seen her in a backless dress. He'd have seen that.

He runs his fingers over it and she arches, turns her head and smiles at him.

"What exactly are you?" he asks softly.

"Human," she replies. "Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Well, I know how you hate magic," she says. Then she shakes her hair out, and when she turns to face him her eyes are...different.

"Not to stroke your ego," she continues, "but great men draw things to them. Little things. Sometimes big things. Trouble. Trouble you couldn't begin to understand, Tony."

"Like you?" he asks, trying to smile, not quite making it.

"No. The trouble attracted me. And I made sure it never touched you."

He looks at her, cups her face in his hands.

"And now?"

She smiles. "Trouble is afraid of me now. Don't worry your beautiful little head about it. Let me take care of that. Why don't you take care of me?"

Tony traces the tattoo with his fingertips, looking in her eyes. "Well. That works for me."


	2. Les Vengeurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **ninjapenguin713** asked: _Tony/Loki in a Moulin Rouge Historical AU_

The Captain once asked him, “Why did you even come to France, Mr. Stark?”

And Tony replied, “America got boring.”

Paris is never boring. Even now, with his hardest-drinking days behind him, the black sheep expat of Les Vengeurs can always find a gambling table, some dancing girls, or just the bright swirl of nightclub life to distract him. And tonight he has fine distraction indeed.

There is a new courtesan at this particular club, a club meant for men who enjoy the company of other men, some of whom simply enjoy the scandal and danger. And it’s been a long week, with the odd god Loki attacking Paris once more, third time this year, and Tony has decided not only that he deserves a little fun, but that he must formulate a different strategy for this threat.

So he watches a dark head of hair and a fine-boned face and a tall, slim body move among the men in the nightclub, and he smiles, and he steps out in front of this newest shining gem — the one they call l’Anglaise — and says, “How much?”

In the curtained booth he's led to, decorated in the Japonais style — all paper panels and enameled boxes — l’Anglais says, “You’re a brute, aren’t you, American?”

"Just like to know what I’m getting," Tony says, drifting a hand down his already-bare back before gripping his waist, pulling him back against him. When l’Anglais turns in his arms, Tony sees the barest flare in his green eyes.

Yes, this is Loki. Barely even disguised. Loki’s cool skin under his fingers as the other man kneels, Loki’s mobile mouth around him as he sucks, and Loki’s throat Tony grasps when he’s done.

"Do you really suppose you can murder a god?" Loki asks, smiling up at him. "And murdering a prostitute, Soldat-de-Fer, that’s just crass.”

"Oh, I’m not planning to kill you," Tony replies. "How would you like to be my kept man?"

"Excuse me?"

"No more battles. No more defeats. No more humiliation, even. Come with me," Tony whispers, pulling him up to speak into his ear, "and I’ll make you the richest courtesan in Paris. I’ll dress you in silk and emeralds. You won’t have to rule the world — you’ll rule me, and I’ll make you king of this debauchery of a city."

He watches Loki consider it.

"All the luxuries of rule, without any of the responsibility. And then…there’s me," Tony says. He squeezes Loki’s throat gently. "I prefer a quiet life, really. I’m tired of fighting you. I’d like to buy you. Own you. Wouldn’t you like that?"

Loki swallows.

"Think about it," Tony says, offering him his calling card. "You know where to find me, when you have an answer."


	3. Germ Factory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **chaiselounger** asked: _Sickfic, Avengers. Bruce is sick, Pepper is out of town, Tony does his best (though what his 'best' is might be a diaster...up to you)._

Tony took one look at Bruce, dragging himself into the lab — nose red, eyes a little glassy, hair in more disarray than usual — and said, “JARVIS, where’s Captain Rogers?”

"Hello to you too," Bruce said. Well, really, he said "Nello do yuu doo" but Tony got the gist.

"Captain Rogers is currently in Philadelphia — "

"Fuck, the history conference at UPenn, right. Well, where’s Pepper?" Tony asked, pulling a surgical face mask on.

"She’s currently in her office — "

"Great!"

"In Malibu. Anticipating your request, Thor is not currently on earth, and Agents Romanoff and Barton are in Paris."

"Why are yoo doig a roll gall?" Bruce asked, sniffling.

"I’m trying to find someone to deal with the walking infectious disease you’ve turned into," Tony said, snapping on some gloves. "You’re sick."

"Brobably."

"You should be in bed. With…soup and stuff."

"Bed’s borig," Bruce said. "I cad be zick in dhe lab."

"That’s ridiculous, and also you’ll spread contagion," Tony replied.

"That mask mages you loog ridigulous," Bruce pointed out, shivering.

"I’m susceptible to infection." Tony put his hands on his hips.

"I'b seed your bloodworg. No you are’d."

"JARVIS, is there nobody else around who can escort Dr. Banner to his bed and keep him there?" Tony asked.

"Apparently not, sir," JARVIS replied.

Tony looked at Bruce. “Well, you’re stuck with me.”

"Id would seeb so," Bruce answered. He gave Tony a hopeful look.

"You’re fucked," Tony informed him.

But he bundled Bruce into bed over his protests and after careful thought ordered a shit-ton of hot soup from somewhere (it was safer than trying to make some, he wasn’t a god-damned chemist) and when he walked into Bruce’s bedroom with the soup and some ginger ale (JARVIS recommended it) Bruce looked up at him miserably and said, “Dis is so borig.”

"Yes, which is why I’m trying to avoid catching it," Tony said, offering the soup at arm’s length. Bruce pushed himself up, shivering, and breathed in the steam.

He did look awful. And lonely. And helpless.

Tony sighed.

"JARVIS, set up the entire first season of Mystery Science Theater," he said. "Play when ready."

He climbed onto the bed, a careful distance away from Bruce, and settled in. He’d have to decontaminate himself as soon as he left, but he probably wouldn’t catch it from here.

Bruce sipped the soup quietly.

Tony took off the gloves.

Bruce sniffled, then coughed. And shivered, despite the soup in his hands. 

Tony, with a resigned sigh, scooted over and pulled Bruce up against him. Bruce gave a contented little snuffle and rested his germy, flu-ridden head on Tony’s shoulder.

"You are a nightmare," Tony told him. "You’re a plague-monster."

"Mmhm," Bruce mumbled, and Tony took his soup away from him before it spilled.

"I don’t know why I put up with you. You’re a freeloading germ factory."

"Mkay," Bruce agreed, and fell asleep, breathing contagion all over Tony’s chest.

Tony groaned and pulled the mask off — probably pointless now anyway — and said, “JARVIS, monitor his fever, please.”


	4. Mighty Bygul Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **myotpismylaptopandme** asked: _Someone brings in a kitten and through a weird series of events it comes to think of Fury as its Mama._

It’s not well known that Fury has a soft spot for cats — in fact, only Coulson knows it — but Fury is the Director of SHIELD. Are _you_ gonna tell him he can’t bring a kitten onto the bridge of the Helicarrier?

Steve was the one who found the kitten, actually. Being Steve, he just picked it up while battling a killer robot and shoved it into one of the pockets on his belt. This could have gone very badly for Kitten, but the fight was mostly over by then. And once Evil was Defeated, they all loaded up into one of the Helicarrier’s hoverjets to head back to the carrier for showers, debrief, and food.

And the kitten said, “Mew.”

And everyone looked at Steve.

"Mew," the kitten repeated, and Steve, with the utmost of embarrassment, unsnapped the pocket and pulled out a tiny Siamese kitten.

"Do those come standard with the utility belt?" Tony asked. "You find cats particularly compelling as weapons against the Nazis?"

"Give him to me," Thor ordered. Steve looked at him suspiciously. "I demand it!"

The kitten let Thor pet him for approximately ten seconds before viciously attacking his thumb.

"Excellent," Thor said, watching the kitten hiss and bite. "We shall call him Bygul, after the cat which pulls my mother’s chariot."

"Give him back to Steve, he’s not a draft horse," Tony ordered, and Thor reluctantly gave up the kitten.

***

"What the hell do you have in your hands?" Fury asked, when they walked into the debriefing room.

"MIGHTY BYGUL," Thor boomed.

The kitten said, “Mew.”

"Battle refugee," Steve said firmly, and set his gloves on the table, placing Bygul in the middle of them, where he curled up and promptly went to sleep.

But Steve got distracted by the debrief, and didn’t notice when Bygul woke up and stretched and began prowling up towards the head of the table, where Fury was standing. He didn’t notice, but everyone else in the room, from the Avengers to the SHIELD clerks to Coulson, watched, totally engrossed, as Bygul snuck stealthily up to Fury and crouched, butt wiggling.

With a brave leap, he landed on Fury’s coat and proceeded to climb up it, leaving little pinprick holes in the leather. Tony was waiting for Fury to lose his shit and just eat the kitten right there in front of them; Clint was red with suppressed laughter, and Thor looked delighted.

The kitten reached Fury’s shoulder, perched there calmly, and began rubbing his head against Fury's ear. Fury kept talking and, without missing a beat, reached up to scratch Bygul under his chin.

Nobody said a single word when Fury walked out with the cat still perched on his shoulder. Coulson just sighed and put in an order with the quartermaster for kitten kibble and a litterbox.

Not even the World Security Council was willing to discuss the fact that Fury now made his reports to them from his office with a tiny Siamese kitten prowling around the shelves in the background. Probably they all assumed they were hallucinating.

But you know what, the Helicarrier no longer has a mouse problem.


	5. Bugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **capt-spork** asked: _Avengers some-kind-of kid(ish) fic, sciencebros?_

The battle was totally ordinary for the Avengers; they killed some aliens and did some property damage. 

Except...then Hulk showed up with a baby.

It was in a car seat and seemed perfectly fine, but Hulk wouldn’t give up that kid. Not when Steve coaxed him or when Tony punched him on the arm and demanded the child -- and even Natasha couldn’t sneak up on Hulk. He just picked her up by the waist with one hand and gently set her aside.

So when Hulk finally got tired and Bruce put in an appearance, he woke up with a baby sitting on his chest and gave Tony a look like, _what, is this some kind of prank?_

And emergency services was dealing with actual injured people, and Clint got really upset when Tony suggested child services. So they took the kid back to Stark Tower and JARVIS started searching and put out this reverse Amber Alert: HEY, WE HAVE YOUR KID, PLEASE COME GET HIM.

But nobody showed up for days. And no babies were reported missing, which strongly suggested the parents weren't around anymore. 

Steve was handling the cleanup efforts, and Natasha was all _fuck no, I’m not taking care of a baby, do I look like a mama to you?_ And Clint wouldn’t go near it. And Thor, well, Thor had strength issues.

"What do you feed things that tiny?" Tony asked, when they’d resigned themselves to hanging out in Bruce’s lab with a kid for the foreseeable future. Bruce, delighted if worried, was playing grab-hands with the baby, where he would poke it and it would grab his finger and they would both make stupid faces. "Do they eat bugs or what?"

"You are a sociopath," Bruce told him.

"Do you know the last time I interacted with an infant? The last time is never," Tony said, and Bruce up and DROPPED THE BABY INTO HIS ARMS and Tony freaked out and went very still.

Which was when JARVIS cleared his throat and said, “I believe I have located the child’s parents, sir. They are, unfortunately, currently in the morgue.”

_"Wait," Tommy Banner-Stark said, fifteen years later. "You just put me under the care of someone who thinks babies eat bugs?"_

_"Seemed like the best way to teach him," Dad-B replied, pressing a kiss to Dad-T’s cheek._

_"Being fair, I never actually fed you any bugs," Dad-T said._


	6. The TastyKake Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cathalins** asked: _steve/tony pretending to be married eeeeeee (movieverse)_

Once upon a time some aliens came to Earth who actually did not want to kill all Earthlings. They were nice, but they insisted on speaking to the Warrior Representatives of Earth, which meant the Avengers. And they insisted that anyone who was not married was not a full adult capable of negotiating with them.

And since all they wanted was like eight tons of TastyKakes, and they were willing to offer some really neat tech in return, Tony seized the moment.

"But we’re married!" he said, and planted a wet one right on Steve’s face. 

And while Steve was startled into total paralysis, Tony managed to slip his dog tags off. And _then_ Tony kind of went to town on him, all hands and nuzzling to hide what he was doing with the tags, so that when he turned around to face the aliens he said, "See? Why else am I wearing these?"

And the aliens had to admit he was wearing his husband’s name around his neck which was a pretty good indication of marriage.

Tony Stark and Steve Rogers were not perhaps the ideal diplomatic envoy to visit an alien ship and negotiate a TastyKake treaty, but what could they do? Aside from glare. Which Fury did. A lot.

"Couldn’t we just have sent Hill?" Steve asked.

"Hill’s married?" Tony demanded, as they walked through the halls of the alien ship.

"Sure. Her wife’s awfully nice. She always sends an extra cookie for me when she packs Hill’s lunch."

"Given the way you reacted to my tongue in your mouth I did not expect this tolerant view of gay marriage."

"Marriage is marriage," Steve said with a shrug. "I got no problems with two women. Or two men. My problem was with your specific tongue in my specific mouth. And even then if you’d given me some warning I’d’ve sold it better."

"Well, sell it now, sweet-ass, because you and I are married for as long as it takes me to weasel all the tech I can carry out of these guys."

Steve put a hand on his chest to stop him, and in full view of a veritable platoon of aliens, tipped Tony’s chin up, gazed into his eyes, and kissed him gently. And at length.

"Selling it enough for you?" he asked, when Tony stared at him dazedly.

"Man, you must have sold a _lot_ of bonds,” Tony said, and Steve chucked him under the chin affectionately and continued on his way.


	7. Jackboots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **zephiey** asked: _Avengers Movieverse- Darcy Lewis/Phil Coulson- pretending to be married._

"This is all you fault, you jackbooted fascist," Darcy said, taking off her heels.

"Why darling, you say the nicest things," Coulson answered, shrugging out of his jacket.

"Do you know what one guy asked me? He asked me if I was for rent."

"We’ve been over this. I’m supposed to be one of — "

"Those sleazeballs at that party?"

"Some of whom may very well be in Hydra’s employ. I needed to appear…shady," Coulson continued, undoing his tie.

"Unzip me, Stalin," Darcy ordered.

"And in order to do that, I had to have a vastly inappropriate trophy wife on my arm. Besides, you should have said yes. You could have gotten all kinds of dirt on him. And maybe made a few bucks."

"You are not nearly as classy as you pretend," Darcy retorted, as he helped her out of her dress. He kept his eyes firmly fixed over her shoulder the entire time.

"I know what junior agents make. I’m only saying."

"But why not Agent Dees?"

"She’s slightly too old."

"Agent Fawcett, then."

"While bringing a young man would have been scandalous, it wasn’t the right sort of scandalous. And before you can suggest anyone else, no, it had to be you."

"Why?" Darcy asked, pulling on a pajama top and flopping onto the hotel-room bed.

"Because you’re out of my league," Coulson said quietly.

Darcy pushed herself up on her elbows. “What?”

His lips quirked slightly. “It’s just a fact.”

"But I’d totally do you!"

Coulson raised an eyebrow. “Well, thanks, I think.”


	8. A Pickle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **regonym** asked: _Avengers. Identity porn, secret d/s relationship_

Tony, being a public figure, gets his kinks made public whether he wants them to or not. So there’s a secret kink that he’s never indulged in or told anyone about because it’s the one thing he never, ever wants strangers to know.

But Pepper has kept his secrets for YEARS, and now they’re sleeping together, and she just outright asked him one night.

"Like I’d keep anything from you," he scoffed. "Remember that time with the oranges and the rentboy?"

"I’d repressed that," she said. But she poked him in the ribs and curled up close and okay, so he confessed that it is the most embarrassing thing in the world to be a superhero with a superhero-rescues-me kink.

"I think it’s sweet," she said. "Very…innocent, for you. You want to be saved?"

"It’s more what comes after the saving, where I’d be so grateful I’d do whatever said superhero asked,” he answered, leering at her. She ran a hand up his chest and rubbed at the muscles around the reactor, which was nice because they sometimes got tense and ached, and he said, “But it’s not like, something I need or anything, it’s just one of those private-moment-in-the-shower thoughts, you know. Probably suck in real life anyway.”

"Which superhero?" she asked.

"I don’t know, I don’t care, it’s not like I’m spanking to anyone on the team in specific. It’s an unimportant detail."

And Pepper let it drop, which was a relief, because Tony only allowed them one baring-your-soul conversation per month.

Two weeks later he woke up tied to the bed, and cursed, and yelled for JARVIS, and all JARVIS said was “Your safeword, sir, is Red.”

"Ohhhh, fuck,” Tony groaned, and immediately started yelling for help, which was when Pepper burst into the room.

She was wearing something that could be called Captain America’s uniform if Captain America was a tall, shapely redhead who clearly had gotten something tailored to fit every curve. The white star really brought out her…breasts.

He stared at her.

She stared at him.

"Is that the actual shield?" he asked hoarsely.

She grinned. “Looks like you’re in a pickle, Mr. Stark.”

And this is why they had to make up a story about how they got engaged because neither of them were ever going to admit that this was the moment when Tony Stark said, “Christ, oh my god, fuck, marry me.”


	9. XXVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **txrabbit** asked: _Avengers - identity porn - Phil/Clint_

There was a time before Clint knew his handler very well, and a time when he was new to SHIELD, and times like that are actually Clint’s favorites because he gets to Do Research. Clint liked finding things out, winnowing out secrets, and SHIELD was all about secrets. Like Operative 27.

Operative 27 was fucking legendary. Clint found out about him (her?) when he got up to the very top of the Helicarrier command tower, a place where man was not meant to go, and found someone else had been there too. XXVII was carved into the paint.

"So what does XXVII mean?" he asked one of the other agents, and she looked at him like he was a kindergartener.

"It’s Operative 27’s callsign," she said.

"Who’s that when he’s at home?"

"Nobody knows. He’s the black ops of black ops. Fury might know who he is. He’s not even in the books, though. People have looked."

"Operative 27 is the guy who pulled the Myanmar job," another agent said.

"I heard about that," Clint replied. "I thought it was just a myth."

"God’s honest truth. I worked with a guy who was on the ground when 27 blew the bunker."

"How do they know it was 27?" Clint asked.

"He left a calling card. XXVII. It’s his thing, like that sniper who used to leave feathers on his victims."

There were tons of legends about Operative 27. The agents reckoned he’d been active for about ten years, maybe as many as twenty. He did the job SHIELD agents couldn’t do. He was still around — lived somewhere on the Carrier, probably, but nobody knew where.

"Hey, you’ve been around here a while," Clint said one day, on the range with Agent Coulson. "You ever hear of Operative 27?"

"Where’d you pick that old urban legend up?" Coulson asked.

"Here and there. So he’s not real?"

"Above my pay grade. But I wouldn’t listen to the stories. SHIELD agents are prize bullshitters, you should have figured that out."

"They weren’t bullshitting me on purpose, though."

"If there is an Operative 27, the best thing we can do is let him get on with his job," Coulson said, and put three bullets into the target, but made only one hole. Clint gave him an impressed look. "Anyway, he’s probably retired by now. That’s a young man’s job."

"Maybe he’s like the Dread Pirate Roberts," Clint said. "The mantle gets passed down."

Coulson gave him an amused look. “Maybe one day you’ll find out.”

Three years later, when Clint found himself removed from his bunk in the middle of the night and dragged up the command tower to where XXVII was still carved in the Helicarrier’s paint, he realized Coulson wasn’t teasing. He was prognosticating.

"We need a new Operative 27," someone said in a low voice, and Clint tried to see through the blindfold. "Interested in the job, Barton?"

"Fuck yeah I’m interested," Clint replied. There was a chuckle.

"I thought you’d say that," and the voice was more normal now, and familiar. When the blindfold came off, Coulson was crouched in front of him.

"Do you swear to uphold the codes and regulations of SHIELD and to protect the agency inasmuch as you are able, to the death?" Coulson asked.

"Not to the pain?" Clint said, and Coulson slapped him.

"This isn’t a joke, Barton. My reputation is on the line."

"I swear," Clint said.

"Are you aware of, and do you accept, the responsibility of this title?"

Clint swallowed. “I am. I do.”

Coulson handed him a white card. XXVII was printed on it.

"Then this is yours now. And I have your first assignment for you, Operative 27."


	10. White Collar: To Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **vongeek** asked: _El and Diana drinking and discussing the crap they get dragged into and how much they (not so) secretly love it. (and that they would make awesome criminals)_

"What would you do if you didn’t work for the FBI?" Elizabeth asked Diana, on their third glass of wine.

"Cry?" Diana said. "I love my job."

"No, I don’t mean like if you got fired, and please don’t think about how you’re talking with your boss’s wife."

"I don’t know. You know lately I’ve been thinking I wouldn’t make a half-bad criminal. International woman of glamour and mystery, kind of thing."

El smiled. “Neal does that to people.”

"Yeah, I guess the influences there are pretty transparent."

"It would be nice, though. I like my job," El said, topping them up, "but there are days when I think it would be so much more fun if it were a front for burglary."

"Well, you scout the rich girls, I’ll reel ‘em in with the grift, and then we’ll rob ‘em blind."

"To a life of crime," El said, holding up her glass. "May the world be grateful we refrained."


	11. Sherlock Holmes: Lestrade's Carnival Of Wonders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **greenet** asked: _Sherlock Original canon -circus au_

Lestrade grew up in the circus, was a barker as a kid and learned to juggle and walk the tightrope from his old man. He knows every trick in the book when it comes to stage illusion, and he’s still never seen anything like Sherlock.

It’s street magic, it’s not top hats and capes, but Sherlock can walk out into the ring and yell out a name and when someone stands up, Sherlock goes to town — tells him about himself, or herself, pulls them down to do a card trick that ends up with their business card shuffled into the deck, makes black cats appear out of nowhere. The black cat trick his his specialty and damned if Lestrade knows how he does it.

Sherlock’s got a brother named Mycroft who’s infamous in performing circles; used to be a high-wire act but now he does backstage design stuff for Cirque de Soleil. Sherlock sniffs at him for a sellout.

He’s not a friendly lad, is their stage magician. He’s only got one real friend, and that’s John, who did a strap act for a while (flying high in the air, swinging and flipping and knotting himself into the strap only to tumble out of it). Well, he still does the act, but he didn’t for ages. When Sherlock showed up, John was just a stage hand, still limping from the fall that nearly did him in.

Lestrade doesn’t know how Sherlock fixed him up, either. None of ‘em thought John would ever go up again.

He’s annoyed, of course, by all he doesn’t know, but he has to admit — Sherlock brings in the crowds.


End file.
